


all the best lines get replaced (i sold you short to fill the empty space)

by didnt



Series: ordinary names [2]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 11k words of self indulgence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, nothing bad happens and they love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:53:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29727912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/didnt/pseuds/didnt
Summary: At the end of the day, George thinks, things haven’t changed all that much. It just feels a lot easier.Or, they've come a long way, but they still struggle to say what's important.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: ordinary names [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184870
Comments: 20
Kudos: 171





	all the best lines get replaced (i sold you short to fill the empty space)

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh okay so i didn't rlly plan on writing this, and when i started doing that it was supposed to be shorter than it actually is. long story short is that i came up with an actual plot like 3k words in and then rambled for the remaining 9k words. idk man. i thought you would all enjoy a nice little sequel to my nice little mutual pining fic.
> 
> as usual i wrote out a plan, didn't stick to it at all and just ran with it.
> 
> i have a long angsty fic on the way that i'm cowriting w someone (for now at least. they're on thin fucking ice <333) so i decided to write something that's like. not angsty.
> 
> title (again) is from life worth missing by car seat headrest, except this line is only in the vinyl version

At the end of the day, George thinks, things haven’t changed all that much. It just feels a lot easier.

There are two clocks in the house right now, one of them is half a second out of time. When it’s very quiet George can hear them both and he’s told Dream countless times how much it annoys him. Dream can’t do much about it. 

He’s always been complaining about this, the only difference is that now he complains about it whilst he’s mostly undressed in Dream’s bed.

They still spend their time in basically the same manner, except the affection and familiarity feels a lot more acceptable. George never has to worry about taking a step too far, or moving in too close. In fact, now he quite prefers to do that. He’s wasted far too much time yearning, and now he’s got what he wants. He might as well make good use of it.

Luckily for him, Dream is kind of the same. 

It’s not lost on either of them that if they had had an actual conversation last year, before George left and before things got strange, not quite bad but strange, then they could have already been here, already gotten used to the specifics of each other’s behaviour, or at least more used to them than they already were. 

Dream tells him, now and then, how much he wishes he had done this before. It’s usually in their quieter, more intimate moments. Everytime he lies in Dream’s arms he kind of curses himself in his head, because he knows this could have always been his. But he supposes it’s better to take the long way home than to never make it there, in the end.

He knows, when he’s with Dream, that he’s managed to make it home. Even when he’s not with Dream, actually. Even in the rare moments where he’s alone, in the apartment or elsewhere, he can still feel it. It’s somewhat bizarre after spending all that time pining away, completely oblivious, and then even more time preparing for the worst. But it turns out the bomb in the wardrobe never went off and the ticking was counting down to something much more surprising.

That and the weather cleared up. But he guesses that’s what happens during the summer months.

So, after all that, it’s hardly a shock when the two of them decide to maintain old habits despite the inevitable shift in their relationship. George enjoys it, though. He figures they’ve really just been together this whole time, and everyone else knew it but them. Maybe they even knew to an extent. They know now.

And neither of them talk about it, not often at the very least. Dream’s talked about the fact George was gone for months, and he’s also whispered quietly in some of their calmer moments, hushed as if anyone could be eavesdropping and this is only for George. And in those moments, George doesn’t say much, he’s never been great at that sort of thing, but he looks up at Dream in a way that tells him that he’s never going to have to miss George again.

It’s night like these when things get quiet, and George wonders if that’s the way it’s always supposed to be. Dream is with him and they’re in bed. George is blissfully comfortable, and warm as he scrolls down his social media feed on his phone. He thinks Dream is doing the same but he’s too lazy to check. He knows there’s an arm around him. 

Sure, it’s never really differed from the way things were before, and by that he means before either of them even considered acting on their feelings, but it feels a lot more secure now. Neither of them are worried about the other pulling away and acknowledging that maybe best friends don’t do things like this. Now, they know for a fact that they definitely do.

It’s late, too. The blinds are drawn and the room is only really illuminated by a lamp on the bedside table, not accounting for the light from both of their phones. Dream might be humming something under his breath, but George isn’t really paying attention.

Somewhere in the mess of everything, and it’s quite a beautiful mess, George has come to realise that perhaps not every single moment means the world, and that they have the time to just do whatever. It’ll all work out in the end. And although some days George has this bitter nostalgia for those darker days, before he was aware Dream is his, because Dream’s always been his, George is starting to enjoy the lack of tension in his everyday life.

He’s sure Dream is the same, because he’s told George as much.

There are moments, and sometimes it’s the mundane moments like these, where George is utterly dumbfounded by the reality he’s found himself in. He wants to run out into the street and start screaming. He’s won. 

He has blood staining his chest, maybe he’d find it funny if he cared to notice. His love is bleeding out for the world to see.

But enough of the poetics, because it’s really a lot simpler than that, George thinks. It always has been. He’s just never really been able to pay attention till now.

He turns his phone off, and then turns into Dream. His head at Dream’s chest, his arm draped like curtains around Dream’s waist. Maybe the best part about the slightly altered manner of affection that they have with each other is that now George never has to move again. Embedded into the home they’ve made for themselves, are George and Dream together. These touches are finally able to provide the level of comfort that they’ve always been supposed to.

He closes his eyes and moves in closer. Dream let’s him. 

“Tired?” He asks George, his voice hushed and gentle as he looks down to face him. George just nods. His face is buried in Dream’s t-shirt and it feels like Dream, smells like him. It’s always provided some form of comfort, Dream has always been some form of home to George, but it’s different. If George had the words to describe how it varied from that, he would say them.

Dream turns slightly, moving George in his arms so he can also get comfortable, settling down with George and pulling him in closer. His hold is secure and in some strange way makes George feel safe. Dream’s told him the same thing before. George clings onto Dream in his sleep a lot, he’s come to realise. Dream’s told him this, and also tells him that he’s stopped having as many bad dreams now that George is around. He never knew about the nightmares to begin with.

George smiles slightly as he feels Dream press a kiss to the top of his head, on top of his hair. He wonders if Dream can tell.

Dream leans over to turn off the lamp. This is kind of the nightly routine; Do nothing in particular until one of them gets tired and they both turn in for the night. He’s sure that one day they’ll stop doing this together, that the novelty of having such a routine will wear off and they’ll be able to exist separately as well as a joint entity. But for now, he’s really enjoying the fact he can now say ‘we’ and ‘us’ instead of just ‘I’.

When Dream moves back in, pulling George closer against his chest, George has never felt anything quite so natural, if you don’t account for the many other times that Dream has done this.

“George,” Dream murmurs, and everytime he says George’s name now it sounds like something sacred, something to be taken care of and treasured.

George hums quietly in response, too comfortable now to look up at Dream.

Dream pauses.

“Goodnight.”

It’s strange to finally be able to word the way George feels for Dream, now. He feels as if he’s earned the right to have one. And it’s also somewhat scary, because George is so used to just assuming that things are appropriately unrequited. He knows they’re not.

Dream’s arm around him is holding him safely. 

And it’s moments like these where George knows, he really knows now, that he’s in love with Dream.

The only issue is, he’s just going to have to find a way to tell Dream that.

George is going to start planning, he tells himself, because he’s sure at this point it needs to be a big event. He’s waited far too long for it not to be.

The only issue is that Dream and George don’t really do big things. They mostly reserve themselves to nights in, and when they’re not inside it’s not like they’re doing anything of note. Along with that, there are no real grand romantic gestures in their relationship. It’s partly because neither of them see the need to, and partly because neither of them can fully be bothered.

They express how they feel in other ways.

Apparently not with words, though, because George is continuing to struggle with finally vocalising to what has been compressing his chest for forever now. It should be fairly easy, he acknowledges, since he’s spent so much time coping with it. Now he can finally say it. He’s not quite sure how.

So this is how George comes up with the bright idea to devise a plan.

George hasn’t exactly ever been one to plan ahead. It’s quite evident that he’s been winging it from the start, what with those mishaps occurring along the way. Someone who plans ahead would have probably already said it by now.

Maybe it’s because love is such a heavy word, really. Or maybe because it’s so true. Whenever the thought occurs to him, whenever he’s with Dream and his head is yelling at him that he loves him, it feels like a revelation. 

It’s not really, at all, because he’s worried about Dream reciprocating. Dream hasn’t said it either, at least not while they’ve been like this. When their friendship wasn’t quite as close, and when they had first started living together, Dream would have said it easily, in the same tone as he would use to ask how George’s day had been. Maybe at some point George said it back.

He stopped doing that, though, somewhere down the line. George didn’t notice, but now he can put the pieces together.

Regardless, he isn’t really fretting over whether or not Dream loves him too. He knows that he does. It’s just a matter of getting it out that’s becoming a bit of a problem for George. He needs to use his words, and not using his words has been his foil in the past, but he really doesn’t know how to do that.

So that’s why it has to be big. George hasn’t really given Dream any big moments.

His ideas are all pretty simple, because despite his new motivation, love, he’s still not the type for grand plans or the like. Also, he’s absolutely sure that Dream would start to figure out that there’s something up with George now, and Dream always worries when that happens. Dream’s getting really good at being able to read George, and get the gist of whatever he’s feeling at any given point, but he’s not a mind reader.

This is partially why, though, in the end he gives up on having any grand plan and just decides to pay for dinner. He could cook something, sure, but sometimes when George is under pressure he completely cracks and forgets how to do basic tasks, so he doesn’t quite trust himself yet. Ordering something feels like a safe bet.

George takes his time to not so meticulously work out how he’s going to express everything to Dream. Perhaps it’s a way to compensate for the rather disastrous manner in which they ended up like this. Although, they’ve never been the type to avoid disaster.

Or perhaps it’s not just because of that, maybe it’s because after all these years of not saying anything he feels as if he owes it to Dream. Something more than the little moments that are treasured but blend together at the end of the day, endless nights on couches and in beds where everything they need to know remains unspoken. George wants to speak.

But it’s, as always, easier said than done.

So George goes ahead with everything, doing his best to keep Dream as clueless as he’s always been. And it mostly works, because Dream doesn’t suspect that George has been fretting over anything at all. It works because Dream doesn’t read into it too much anymore, trusts George with his own emotions. Maybe sometimes he shouldn’t.

“I’m paying tonight,” He tells Dream as he walks out of their bedroom, as a side note it’s quite exciting to him that he can say ‘their’ now. “I don’t know if it’s my turn but I want to.” They’ve stopped keeping track now, it doesn’t matter. 

Dream doesn’t even look up from whatever it is that he’s doing before responding to George, “Yeah? Just let me pay next time.” And it’s sorted. 

God, it’s all so terribly easy now, isn’t it? George still isn’t used to the way things just fall into place in a way that he never really envisioned. But it all makes so much sense now that he’s here. He wants to kiss Dream, but doesn’t and instead makes good on his offer.

The night goes well, actually. George manages to force himself to stop worrying, because he really has no reason to, but there’s a somewhat ominous feeling surrounding him right now that he doesn’t appreciate. It’s long stopped raining, sure, but George can still sometimes feel the black clouds looming over him.

It’s kind of stupid, really, he thinks later on in the night. Because when he knows that the outcome will be in his favour, it shouldn’t be so hard to actually spit it out. 

He’s not sure why it’s even such a big fucking deal. Why do these words matter more than any of the others? More than Dream telling him to stay, or when George wordlessly clings to him despite the heat, despite all the humidity. They’re all saying the same thing, anyway. In some way, they’ve said it a million times. But they’ve never uttered the real words.

George figures they might as well.

But words are so much harder when Dream’s got him on the couch, and things are seeming to be escalating quickly.

Really, the only thing that has changed much is the physical aspect to their relationship. Because George is finally able to stop feeling guilty about thinking of Dream in any light other than platonic things have really improved a lot. This means that moments like these are frequent, especially considering they’re two people with little to do other than spend time with one another.

Dream has got George half on his lap and it’s mildly uncomfortable, but George hardly cares. Dream is pretty good at making his mind go blank, and he’s always been good at that but his methods are growing more and more effective by the day.

“George,” Dream mumbles quiets, muffled by the fact that George is refusing to stop kissing him, inching closer and closer. He still isn’t used to hearing his name like that, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be. It sounds like worship. It sounds like staying home on a Sunday morning to finally rest.

“Mhm?” George asks, and he knows that he should probably say it now. He should say it soon. He can say it later. He barely pulls back to hear Dream talk, and he’s not really going to say anything to interrupt this. Also, he’s sure it would be kind of sweet if it happened afterwards.

Dream paused, before shaking his head, “Nothing. I’ll tell you later.” And George was content with that, eager to keep going. “C’mere,” Dream murmured, pulling George fully onto his lap now. It felt right.

Everything that’s serious can wait until later now, George notes to himself. Whatever Dream has to say too can be temporarily pushed to the side. This is how he justifies the procrastination to himself. He especially can’t be bothered to change the subject when things are going so right for him as it is right now. He doesn’t want to spoil the moment.

And in the moment in question, everything feels okay. This brief, ephemeral period in time where George is free to ignore whatever may be going on elsewhere in the world and focus on Dream, focus on everything that actually mattered. It’s perfect, really.

His phone is in his back pocket when it goes off, indicating that someone has texted George. He ignores it, preferring to focus on the way Dream is now kissing his jaw. He would love to continue doing this, in fact he would love nothing more, but then his phone goes off again. And again.

George almost groans in frustration as Dream briefly pulls away. 

“Check your phone then turn it off, God,” He’s got his hands resting on George’s waist, holding him there and in place as George nods. “And be quick.”

“Yeah, okay. Yeah,” George quickly reaches back to grab his phone, ready to just check that no one was dying and then turn it off.

He couldn’t exactly do that though.

“Shit.” George mutters under his breath when he reads the texts. He supposes that the universe is playing some kind of cruel joke on him at this point, which was especially mean because George had hoped that they’ve worked out their differences by now. He quickly scans the screen before climbing off of Dream.

He should probably tell Dream what’s going on, not leave him in the dark, but first he needs to call his mum and sort that out. He offers a smile to Dream, letting him know that it’s fine. Even if it’s not really at that moment.

“Hi, hello,” George’s voice is quiet as he talks into the phone, “Tell me what happened.” He walks into the other room.

It turns out that what happened is that one of George’s great aunts died last night. He feels bad about it, and he’s mourning a little due to the vague memories of spending time with her during childhood. However, he’s a little more sad about the fact that this means he needs to fly back to England for the funeral. His mum has insisted he do so, and he can’t say no when someone has died.

He explains this to Dream afterwards, who’s disgustingly considerate in that moment, although he doesn’t know what he really expected. He also feels pretty bad that someone died and the first thing on his mind is Dream, someone he doesn’t even have a defined relationship with yet. But he loves Dream, even if he isn’t going to let him know anymore. This is what he gets for messing with the powers that be and trying to plan ahead.

“I don’t want to go,” George confesses to Dream. They’re only really talking about it now they’re in bed, and George feels safe to speak. Dream’s holding him, and Dream’s taking care of him but he doesn’t really know if he needs taking care of. He’ll take what he can get, though. “I haven’t been there in years now. It’ll be weird.”

“Did you not stop there when you were away?” Dream asks him, and his hand is slowly moving up and down George’s waist, a small movement of comfort that eases him into a calmer state.

George shakes his head, and just eases into the touch. “No.”

He’s thought about bringing Dream with him, in the hours he’s had to think. And he’s been thinking about having Dream there with him, in his childhood bedroom and making things okay in the awkward moments. He thinks about Dream impressing his parents, and getting along well with everyone, lighting up a sullen room of mourners. But it’s unrealistic.

Because he can’t really explain to his family why he’s bringing his roommate to a family funeral. Not yet, anyway. He supposes it’s poor timing, that this is happening before they’ve fully talked things out. Because Dream isn’t his boyfriend, not exactly. Not yet, anyway. They’ve shied away so far from using any terms that seem so official. George thinks it detracts from the fact that they’re just kind of Dream and George, and he doesn’t want to complicate that. 

But some things exist to be complicated.

“Do you have to go then?” Dream pulls George in closer, holding him tightly in the same way he always does, and it makes George feel like it’s all okay.

“I have to go.” George nods, and sighs, “My mum thinks it’ll be good for me to pay respects. And that it’s been years since they’ve seen me, so it’ll give them something to talk about at dinner afterwards. It could be worse.”

“I know, but it could definitely be better,” Dream is probably as tired as George is. George has spent too much time away, too much time wasted in places that Dream isn’t following him to. And now he’s going to do it again, even if he doesn’t want to. How silly it’ll all seem afterwards, because a week is just a week compared to the years, or however long, that George sees their future lasting. But a week is still time spent away.

“I wish I could take you there with me.” His mum has offered to pay for the ticket. He’s definitely going, it just sucks that he has to. His flight is in a week or so. “It’d probably make things a lot easier.” 

“You will one day.” Dream presses a kiss to the top of George’s head, tender and caring, “But you have a phone. You can call me every night and I’ll talk to you for however long you need.” Dream promises this to George and George believes him. Again, it’s just a week. He’s being dramatic. But he’s still gotten incredibly used to having Dream around, having Dream beside him, Dream’s Hands on George merely to remind him that he’s there. 

“You don’t like flying,” George pointed out, and he wondered if he could possibly move in closer, start to merge with Dream. He isn’t afraid to merge. “It’s also pretty boring. There’s not much there. Part of why I left.”

“I can deal with it for you,” Dream mumbles, but it sounds a lot more like ‘I love you’ than anything else. 

George knows.

And even when he doesn’t know much of anything at all, he knows that. God, when it comes to love George hasn’t really had issues. He’s never felt particularly unloved at all, but to know for certain that he’s genuinely beloved… It’s like a revelation. It’s like he’s been saved from something he can’t quite put his finger on. But it’s something he no longer has to worry about because he’s here, and he’s got Dream. That’s something.

But even then, George still can’t say it. Still won’t.

George is set to leave in about a week, and he knows it won’t be all that bad, not really. It will be a week of catching up and family members asking him where he’s been, what he’s been up to, and George having to keep everything vague. It’s not that he doesn’t want his family to know, because he’ll tell them one day how things are, but it feels so personal just now and he doesn’t want to explain whatever is going on between him and Dream.

Their friends know, of course they do, but they’ve always suspected anyway. It’s hard for them not to know, even if Dream and George are pretty subdued in regards to their romance whenever they’re around people. It’s the subtle differences that matter, a lingering hand on his knee, a head on his shoulder, the way it all feels less tense. 

Dream is being pretty understanding about him leaving, again. It’s for less time now, sure, but he’s still hopping on a plane and heading off to some other continent. Still, even when Dream is outwardly perfect when it comes to this less than perfect situation, George knows it’s stressing him out slightly and that he’s somewhat frustrated.

He can feel it when the arm around him becomes less secure and more possessive. George has never minded Dream to be possessive though, and so he just relaxes into it. And sometimes when he’s not thinking straight, Dream will tell George to stay in a voice so quiet George almost can’t hear it. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to.

George wants to stay. But familial pressure is stronger than he’d thought, and he doesn’t want to say no when someone’s legitimately dead now. He still feels horrible about the fact that a family member is gone now and the first thing on his mind is how much he’s going to miss Dream whilst he’s away. It shouldn’t be, but it’s really all he can think about. Maybe this is influenced by the fact that Dream is always here, always around, reminding George that he’ll have to stay away for a little while.

He thinks of how cold his bed will be when he arrives in England.

And the week passes in a blur of planning and panic. He gets his plane ticket, his funeral suit and then spends the rest of the time just sitting there with Dream. They don’t do much, even less than usual, and things are mostly simple. He doesn’t want to go. He can’t believe he ever left by choice.

The floorboards still creak under his feet, but they’re weary now, used to the feet wandering over them daily.

The night before George leaves, he’s lying half on top of Dream in bed, his head pressed against Dream’s heart, the gentle thud seeming to soothe him into being tired. He can’t sleep, he never can the night before he travels anywhere. He’s set about three alarms, and so has Dream. He’s going. He can’t miss the flight just to stay home and continue to do nothing and avoid telling his family what’s going on in his life. He owes them something, at the very least.

Something more than the occasional phone call, or the empty promise to come visit. He doesn’t know what he’s been avoiding, but he always has to be avoiding something. 

“Do you promise to call?” Dream asks him, his hand on George’s back. It’s quiet. Usually there’s some noise outside, some passing cars or people on the street but not tonight. Their neighbours aren’t yelling, and there aren’t any crickets chirping. The silence is abnormal, sad, almost as if the apartment is sad to see George go again.

“I promise. As often as I can.” George is telling the truth. It’s not like last time where they get by on a ten minute conversation every two weeks, and missing the other immensely despite it. He’s so used to talking to Dream again that he doesn’t think he can just stop. Communication has never been their strong suit, but George is going to try. He can talk, he promises he can. He just needs to learn the right things to say at the right time.

“Good. ‘Cus I’m going to miss having you here.”

George looks up at Dream and his eyes are wide like usual, and he hopes that Dream can recognise the utter adoration that shines within them. His chest is bleeding again. He supposes it’s the stress of going back over to the UK, now, combined with the fact that he’s finally got things figured out. Maybe it’s poor timing.

“Patches can keep you company,” George tells Dream, and moves up slightly to press a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’m sure she’ll be happy to have your undivided attention for a little while.”

“I know she will,” Dream laughs softly, and George is glad there’s at least some positive in this. God he’s pathetic. “You know once you get back I’m not gonna let you leave again? Not now I finally have you.”

George’s heart is breaking in the most breathtaking way possible. He’s in love. He knows it.

He isn’t sad, per se. Just frustrated with the way things are right now.

“And don’t find some pretty girl off in the UK.” Dream tells him, and George shakes his head.

“I don’t want a pretty girl.” George confesses and Dream smiles at him in a way that George has never been able to work out, but he knows that Dream reserves it for him. For these moments.

“Okay, sure. I think you’re enjoying being with guys at this point-” And George moves up to kiss Dream again.

“Shut up, I only want you.” He mumbles, quiet but Dream can still hear him, Dream can get the point. 

Maybe he’ll never actually have to tell Dream at all. They can both pick up on context clues.

The two clocks tick out of time, still, and George feels like one is another second or so late than usual.

The drive to the airport in the morning is mostly silent, and the sky is grey in the way it always is before you travel anywhere. There’s a knot in George’s stomach and bags under his eyes. The streetlights pass them by, turning off in the early summer morning. George doesn’t want to go.

He tells Dream when they arrive, pulling into a parking spot. There’s a little while before his flight, and plenty of time to make it through security, so they just sit there. Dream looks half as tired as George does, but he supposes that Dream isn’t actually going anywhere which gives him a little bit of an advantage. George feels cold but doesn’t know why, especially since it’s summer now.

He’s wearing one of Dream’s hoodies though, and he’s packed several. Just a little reminder of home. He’s sure that he’ll be fine.

He smiles at Dream, gently without saying much. He wants to kiss Dream so badly. Kiss Dream and then tell him to start driving home because George just wants to stay. He’s sick of planes, and he’s sick of oceans of distance being between them. He’s grown so fucking weary of saying goodbye, abandoning home, running away. He’s not running away, not this time. 

He wishes that Dream were crueller, sometimes. He wishes that Dream would tell him to stay and then that would be that. But maybe if Dream were crueller, George would love him less. Only less, though, because George can’t imagine a world where he doesn’t love Dream, it’s rather unconditional at the end of the day, which is somewhere between being for better and for worse.

Maybe that’s the space they’re used to occupying. George likes to think that, at least in their current iteration, it’s for the better.

“I’ll let you know when I get there.” It’s a nine hour flight and George doesn’t see it feeling any shorter than that. He’s probably just going to sleep through it because he didn’t get enough of that last night, despite Dream’s comforting presence. Travelling is nerve wracking. It always is.

“You better.” Dream smiles at him, all bright and caring and like he can’t see anything in the world that isn’t George anymore. George knows that Dream won’t like the distance either, however fleeting it may be. George has checked the weather forecast and it’s cloudless skies for the next few weeks. This time they might still have something shared between them, although it’s a minute detail in the long list of ways they’ve been combining over this confusing period of time.

George doesn’t know where he stands, not really, but he doesn’t need to stand anywhere when Dream can carry him back home again. 

“You should start heading, before I decide I’m going to miss you too much.” Dream tells him, softly and it’s bittersweet. In the end, it’s not a big deal, not at all. George can come and go as he pleases and they’ll be fine afterwards. Dream has let George know that if he ever needs space he’s free to go and get that. But this is different because neither of them want space, enjoying the way they’re always touching, always shoulder to shoulder.

Domesticity has become one of life’s greatest pleasures now. George couldn’t be happier with the way things have turned out. He just wishes they were a little further along in their- well, he doesn’t know if he can call it a relationship. Further along in whatever they have so that George can bring Dream along without question, he can sleep next to Dream on the plane, and then take him home.

Really, though, anywhere that Dream is has become home to George. It’s realising things such as that that’s kept him going recently. Not just this past week, but these months. For as long as he’s realised that Dream has been his all along.

And Dream will be his no matter where he spends the following week.

He unbuckles his seatbelt and leans over to kiss Dream’s cheek, “I’m gonna miss you. And I’ll make all this up to you when I get back. Promise.” He smiles faintly and that seems like it’s going to be enough for Dream. Enough for now at least.

“I know.” And there seems to be something else on the tip of Dream’s tongue, like he’s waiting to say something. George’s ears are eager, because he should probably leave. He should start heading through security.

“George,” Dream begins, and George listens, and waits. “Have a safe flight. Call me when you land.” He’s repeating himself but it doesn’t matter. George nods and kisses Dream properly, lingering there for a few seconds too long before he starts to climb out of the car. He has places to be where Dream won’t be tempting him into staying.

The flight itself isn’t actually terrible, and it’s rather comfortable. George is able to relax and get some rest. He texts Dream before the flight takes off, letting him know. Dream doesn’t say much in response.

He hopes their communication is actually different this time, rather than being the same short sentences and being too nervous to actually speak their minds. Dream had confessed that he hated speaking to George over the phone whilst he was away, it only reminded him of what he had let slip through his fingers. George isn’t going to let that happen again. He’s not going to let Dream hang up the phone anymore.

And whilst the flight isn’t the worst, it’s still long and tortuous to sit through. George is good with flights for the most part, so it’s more the knowledge that he’s going to spend the next few days conversing with family members he’s never been all that close too about the dullest topics. In his mind, however, the only real interesting topic out there is Dream, which is really stupid and dumb, and oh my god he’s so lovesick.

He doesn’t mind though. And when he dreams, it’s not of the usual abstract imagery that often pops up in his head. Instead it’s of Dream, and coming home. He just has to make it through the week, and then another nine hour flight and after that’s over, he can be Dream’s again. The idea is certainly more than appealing to him, the concept of being back home already heavy on his mind when he thinks about patches, and the kitchen counters, and the way that the walls seem to be moulded around him.

He’s so in love it’s disgusting.

He calls Dream virtually the moment the plane touches the landing in England. He still has however long it takes him to get his luggage, and then another hour in a taxi to actually get to his parents house, so he has time to waste. In fact, it’s as soon as George has shown his passport and headed towards baggage claim, he texted Dream and told him to call him. Now he’s just waiting.

Dream eventually picks up the phone and George knows it’s only afternoon back where Dream is, whereas it’s now evening here. Everything seems a lot more peaceful, actually. Even in the crowds of people trying to collect their bags, there’s a sense of exhaustion. No one is truly lively enough to talk about much of anything.

But among the few that are, is George. 

“Hi,” He’s holding the phone up to his ear, and watching for his bag. “I’m here. No plane crash.”

“So that means I still haven’t gotten rid of you?” Dream asks and George can tell his smiling, can feel it in the sound vibrations. 

“Nope, not yet. You’ll have to try a lot harder next time.” Because he’s heard Dream now, he can’t really help but smile to himself. It’s faint, and it’s tired, but it’s still spread out on his face. “What’re you up to?” He asks when he sees his bag and goes to grab it. He thinks that if Dream talks him through the daily routine they usually share it’ll be easy.

“Patches has trapped me on the couch. I don’t like to move her when she gets comfortable.” This is where George should be, he knows that, but he can deal with a short amount of time away. He’ll be home soon anyway.

Their conversation is rather short actually, when George realises he has to go and let his family know he’s here, and then get a taxi. He almost says it, what he’s been thinking all this time, when he hangs up, but something gets caught in his throat and he just blurts out some variation of ‘See you soon!’ And then it’s quiet again.

It’s on the cooler end of summer days and George isn’t quite used to escaping the humidity. He misses it now he no longer has it surrounding him.

George’s parents house is familiar in a strange way to him, when he arrives there, because obviously he grew up here, and he spent so many years confined within these walls before he left. But he’s been gone for so long that he feels a bit like a stranger to this place. He notes this as he dumps his bag on his bed. The house is quiet, because his parents have now stopped fussing over his return. They’ve given him time to get over his flight and maybe rest.

He thinks about last time he returned home from the airport, when he arrived home. He thinks of the rain, and Dream, and the exhaustion and the way Dream has stroked his hair like a lover, although he was only half of one at the time. He thinks about the birds chirping and the dust and realises he’s millions of miles away from where he wants to be. 

This is because despite the way his body aches from travelling, and leaving home, there’s no one there to take care of him right now. Sometimes he feels like he’s earned the right to be taken care of, and it’s rather inconsiderate that no one has offered, at least not in the way that Dream would. The floorboards don’t creak underneath him, and his room is carpeted. It feels strange under his feet.

It would be, and he acknowledges this, rather pitiful for him to imagine Dream there with him. And he has no doubt that when he looks back on this, he’ll be cursing himself for ever acting this way. But he misses those arms around his shoulders, and Dream’s heart beneath him, the rhythmic thud that reminds George just how alive and real Dream is. This is no longer some fantasy derived from George’s presumedly unrequited feelings: this is happening.

But it’s on hold now.

His bedroom, and this observation is one of the more hyper specific details that George notices, smells strange. It’s not quite home anymore despite the memories that he's sure he holds within the walls, underneath the floorboards, out in the trees he can see from his window. But it’s not enough, not anymore. They’re only memories now, pictures in those dusty frames. George wants now.

He understands the wait, he does. He’s sure he’ll cope, but putting his current situation on a break, even if it’s just for one week, is far too much for George. He knows they’re only in their early days, and he shouldn’t be so dramatic, but he’s sure that Dream is being just as dramatic wherever he is right now. He hopes that Dream misses him at least half as much as he said he would. Maybe then he’ll stop feeling so stupid.

He feels stupid enough not to call Dream. It’s not been that long since he hung up last and he’s suddenly hit with the intense fear that he’ll seem too clingy. And he is, and Dream knows that anyway, but now that there’s distance George is afraid that his head will suddenly clear and he’ll become aware that maybe he’s been assuming things that shouldn’t be assumed, getting too cocky in his actions and words. He hopes not. He can’t say.

The fact that Dream is currently millions of miles away definitely presents itself as a problem to George that night though. When he showers and heads to bed, it feels too small, and it feels too empty. The noises are all wrong, and the sheets feel weird. They’ve been washed for him arriving, he can tell. Other than that, the room seems virtually untouched, a museum of who George once was. Who he has been, and will maybe never be again.

George doesn’t like to dwell on the past too much, it’s never gotten him very far before. But being back here, not home because that’s not really here anymore, has a funny way of resurfacing old memories of teenage angst, and general dissatisfaction that George previously thought he had thrown away with all the other baggage he had brought with him to America. Evidently, not all of it had been incinerated like expected, as George can feel something swelling in his gut. 

Memories are painful. 

It isn’t as if anything in particular has happened here. He just knows that if he had stayed he would be as unhappy as ever, and despite the fact that at some points in America he’s been miserable, it’s been looking up since then. The skies in England are always so grey. Even in those sweltering summers, the grey peaks through in ways it’s never supposed to. It’s all so dull. George hates it.

But he’s here. 

He knows the funeral is in a few days, and that he’ll sit in his uncomfortable suit in the pews and sing hymns with his family members, but he won’t be too loud. Then they’ll send the body to the crematorium and George and his family will sit in some local hotel bar, eating a steak-pie tea and eating an assortment of pastries and small cakes. It’s not the first family funeral he’s attended, but he’s definitely missed a few since he left. 

He wonders how, exactly, they managed to get him back this time. Maybe they’ve all been waiting for a chance to pounce and bring him back, and George would never really say no, not to his family, but it was all so inconvenient. It’s selfish of him to think that, it really is, but George can’t word it in any other way. He doesn’t want to be here surrounded by grief, and nostalgia, when there’s something waiting for him elsewhere.

He turns in bed, facing the blue walls of his bedroom. Or his former bedroom, really. George isn’t sure that it’s actually his. It’s then that he gives in and calls Dream.

“Hey,” He mumbles quietly into the phone when Dream picks up. He knows it’s only early evening for Dream right now, but he’s not sure if he wants his parents to be able to hear his conversations. He doesn’t quite remember how thin the walls are.

“Hi!” Dream exclaims into the phone, and he sounds genuinely happy to hear George’s voice. George feels the same, finding himself instantly comforted upon hearing Dream, “You settling in, then?” Dream asks, and George pushes himself up in bed to rest on his elbow.

“Kind of. I’m not here long, so there’s not much unpacking I have to do,” He tells Dream. “What’re you up to?”

“I’m making dinner right now. Don’t worry, you’re on speaker.” George wants to be there so bad. He’s settled back into their little domestic routine, and he didn’t want anything disrupting it. He doesn’t blame his great aunt for dying, it’s hardly her fault, but he wishes it hadn’t happened at such an inconvenient time.

“Yeah? Anything interesting.” He wants to hear Dream talk, longs for it. Even though the phone speakers muffle him slightly, he can deal with a slightly distorted Dream than no Dream at all, really. It could always be worse, he notes. It’s been worse before. Strange to think that the last thing on his mind when he was away all those months ago was talking to Dream. In fact, he was pretty pointedly doing the opposite.

But these aren’t the stilted conversations of a fast failing friendship whilst neither of them are capable of just talking it out. They can talk! It’s like an epiphany, and George feels like he’s some devoted religious zealot whenever Dream appears in his mind, which is more often than George would care to admit to anyone other than Dream.

“Nothing interesting. How’s eating British food going for you?” George can’t be bothered to sit up anymore, so just allows himself to rest with his head on the pillow. 

“Shut up about British food. It’s going great.” George grins, shaking his head, “You haven’t ever been to the UK. You can’t comment on its food.”

“George, I’ve seen photos, it’s disgusting.” Dream laughs on the other end. George wishes he was there, like stepping into a postcard where the art is so dreadfully mundane. But it’s George’s life. The life he now shares with Dream. He doesn’t know how easy he’s going to sleep tonight, having grown used to having someone wrapped around him.

“You just don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

There’s a pause, a moment of silence where George can hear Dream, hear him moving around in his kitchen, their kitchen. Something clatters, quietly in the distance. He wonders if the skies are as grey over in the states as they are here.

“George?” Dream snaps him out of his thoughts, and he makes a small, quiet noise of affirmation. “Can you, like, just facetime me or whatever. I want to see you.”

“Yeah, sure.” George his certain Dream can hear the tiredness in his voice, the way he’s grown exhausted with the passing day. But he’s also unsure if he cares much. Dream’s seen him in equally bad and worse states, and will continue to do so for as long as George can make this last. His highest goal is forever. The odds are looking decent.

When George sees Dream on camera his heart starts to bleed. It’s nothing special, and Dream doesn’t look his best. He looks worn down, probably because of the early morning, and the shirt he’s wearing has a stain on it. But he smiles when he sees George and that’s good, that works. 

George also looks like shit. It’s a weird angle so he can still lie with his face against the pillow, and also as a result of that his face is squished up. The bags under his eyes are deep, dark and prominent and he half expects Dream to tell him how bad he looks, because Dream has never exactly shied away from doing so before. But he doesn’t.

Dream is still focused on making himself dinner as he stands by the stove, and the lighting is over, and it’s perfect. George just wants to screenshot this and keep it forever because, oh my god, he’s so fucking in love. It’s awful and it’s perfect and George isn’t sure how he was able to live without realising it. He wonders if this is what it’s like to become enlightened, then quickly dismisses the thought.

“Hi,” George is speaking virtually at a whisper. He has his headphones in, connected to the phone so no one can hear Dream but him. He has so much to say but it’s never been the right time, it never is. He wishes that someone would just say when, tell him that now’s his chance. But until then everything he needs to say gets caught in his throat. He wonders if Dream can tell. He does too much thinking, though.

“Hey,” Dream waves at George through the camera and his smile is so wide. George thinks this is maybe a bit more than hearing Dream’s voice now. He knows, something in his mind, that maybe he’s co-dependent and far too attached, but George prefers to think that this is just his brain’s stupid little way of coping with the fact that George deprived himself of this for years. 

And although he truly doesn’t like to dwell on what has already happened, he thinks about the fact that Dream could’ve been his for so much longer. Although he knows that Dream has always been his for as long as they’ve known each other, and vice versa. It’s funny, and their friends have always pointed this out, how as soon as Dream and George met each other they seemed to only really have eyes for each other. Both of them stopped seeking out any form of romance and grew content to have each other.

George knows that, at least on his part, it wasn’t all subconscious. Although he was hardly content to have just a friendship with Dream. He’s not quite sure if years of almost being completely celibate paid off in the end, because he could’ve had this a lifetime ago. But he’s happy with the lifetime he has now, even if they arrived there a little late in the game. And although Dream tells him he wishes that he’d been able to have George like this so much sooner, George knows he’s happy with this too.

Maybe in an ideal world they’re better at talking. Maybe in an ideal world they’ve already told each other what matters. But George can’t spend too much time thinking about that, so instead he just focuses on the way Dream looks from the shitty bulbs in their kitchen. Focuses on what matters.

Then the funeral is in a couple of days, and George has spent the first few days of the week socialising and catching up with his parents and a few cousins who lived nearby anyway. It’s nothing compared to the actual day of the funeral.

It passes by in somewhat of a blur of handshakes, and hugs, and pats on the shoulder. Then crying, and laughing and everything else you might find there. George doesn’t cry, but feels bad about the death, even if he doesn’t remember her that often. He makes a note of that when the room has gone silent to pray. He doesn’t know if he can apologise to his dead aunt in prayer, but that’s what he does.

After they leave the pews and head to get dinner, George is still in the back of his parents car as they speak about how fantastic it is that George is finally home and how excited everyone is to see him again. They tell him he’s got a tan, which is funny to him because Dream still comments regularly on how shockingly pale he is. But Dream grew up in the sun, so they’re hardly evenly matched.

He also can’t believe he can’t get Dream off his mind, even now. Somehow everything has a funny way of working back to him. God, George is lonely here.

He tells Dream as such when they call that night.

“I have my parents to talk to and that’s it. And I don’t know what to tell them because they have so many questions about my life, and they don’t believe it’s uneventful.” He’s almost whining, worn out from having to socialise with so many people all day. The room he’s lying in feels a little more familiar now, but it’s still strange. He has a few more days in the UK. He wants to go home.

“You fucked off to Europe for half a year, tell them about that.” Dream’s on the couch with Patches on his lap. “You talk to other people about it, you can probably tell them.” Because George still doesn’t talk about Europe with Dream. It’s not fully a sore spot for them now, but it’s somewhat of a reminder of a time where they were both pretty low. It’s easier to pretend it didn’t happen and therefore easier to excuse their complete stupidity at certain points.

“There’s only so much I can talk about there. They want to know about, like, life in America.” He groans. He’s wearing one of Dream’s hoodies that he packed, because at this point they’re shared rather than anything. They’re basically George’s, but they smell like Dream and it’s enough to remind him of home. It’s enough to keep him content with the distance again. Flying alone is so terribly lonely, though, and he wonders how he’ll feel on the flight back.

“So what do you tell them?”

“Not much, really,” George shakes his head slightly, but it doesn’t move all that much when his face is pressed against his pillow. “Work and stuff. They asked if I had a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Dream is quiet, and he can hear Patches moving around on the couch now, roaming. “Do they know… Or?” He asks George, and it’s all very complicated and he doesn’t ever know how to phrase anything.

“I don’t think that they don’t know. I just haven’t told them officially.” George explains, trying his best to get comfortable but it’s hard. It’s always so fucking hard. 

“So I guess you haven’t told them about me, then?” 

“Not yet.” George sighs, watching Dream as best he can. The angle still isn’t great for either of them but they’re so far past the point of being concerned with anything like that. Dream probably sees him in worse conditions every single day. Some part of him enjoys that. “I’ll tell them whenever you’re ready for that. I know it’s a big step.”

“Then you can tell them any time you’d like.” Dream tells him. His heart swells up and he thinks that it’s about to burst. He wants to apologise almost, but he knows Dream doesn’t care for apologies when it comes to George. He lets George get away with everything. 

“Then I’ll tell them.” George confirms with Dream. It makes everything feel all the more real. And whilst there’s not really a word that they’re going to use to describe themselves just yet, it’s enough for them to exist as the two of them. “I’ll tell them, like, tomorrow morning. And I’ll update you when you wake up.”

“You better.” Dream smiles this wide fucking smile and George knows, he really knows something, that in this moment they’re on the exact same page.

“You know they’ll just start asking to meet you now?” George asks Dream, but he can’t hide the smile in his voice, nor the one plastered on his face.

“Oh, I’m fine with that. I’ll win your parents over. It worked with you, after all.” Dream points out, cocky and so fucking incredible. “And regardless, I’m a really cool guy. Of course they want to meet me.” George considers sticking the finger up to the camera.

“Hey, George?” Dream’s voice goes slightly quiet again.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you. Your side of the bed keeps getting cold.” 

George doesn’t know, really, how he feels about the fact that at this point he now has his own side of the bed. It’s almost surreal in the grand scheme of things, and definitely positive, but George never expected this. Never expected everything to make as much sense as it does now. He truly expected the confusion to last forever, and he expected that he’d have to make do with disappointments year after year. George was wrong. He was so fucking wrong.

“I miss you too.” George tells him, and he means it. He’s sure Dream can hear how much he means it. If he were home, George would wrap his arms around Dream and cling on. He’d consider well and truly never letting go, despite it all. But that’s the problem, he’s not there. He’s in his childhood home without Dream, in a twin sized bed that’s cold regardless of who lies in it. But George is starting to mind it all a little less.

“What’s it like tonight?” Dream queries,”For you. What does it look like outside?”

“Uh,” George leans over to check, “It’s kind of normal. A pretty clear night though.”

“So you can still see the moon?” Dream asks. George smiles slightly.

“I can see the moon.”

“Then we have that for now.”

It’s in times like this one that George misses those out of sync clocks, allowing things to stay the same as they always have been.

George eventually manages to make it home to the US after his week back with his family is up.

His parents react well to the whole having a roommate who’s a bit more than a roommate thing. George prefaces it by claiming that everything between him and Dream isn’t really a huge deal and there’s no need to overreact. It’s kind of an entire lie and maybe that’s why his mother ignores it entirely. He doesn’t feel a need to explain much, and instead simply allows himself to exist the way he is. It’s nice.

And after that happens, as big a deal as it is and shouldn’t have been in George’s eyes, the days seem to pass by much faster than he ever expected them too. He talks with Dream on the phone every single night, reminds himself what he’s going to be coming home to and it provides a small sense of comfort as the time goes on. It’s not everything, and not nearly enough compared to the real thing, but it’ll do. It’ll totally do.

Dream’s happy to hear he’s getting George back. He’s now briefly spoken to George’s parents over the phone, speaking to them for only a few minutes before George snatched the phone back. It all feels so official and true, now that other people know, now that his family knows. He can hardly call it unpleasant, not really. Now a lot of the uncertainty in his mind has melted away and he can focus on the more happy aspects of life. He hasn’t worked out most of them, but he can definitely recognise a few.

He thinks about the future, and it looks as bright as ever. He thinks about years spent with Dream, and forcing Dream to talk to his family, but he knows he’ll never have to force it. Not with the way Dream tends to be with everyone. 

He’s determined, fully now, that the second he gets off that plane he’s going to kiss Dream, which they don’t usually do in public but whatever a week is far too long to go without, and then George is going to tell Dream exactly how much he loves him. And then he’s going to repeat it over and over in the car ride home until Dream is almost sick of hearing it, but he never quite will be.

That’s George’s grand plan in the end. It’s some mix of real excitement towards getting to see his- is he just going to say boyfriend now? Especially when no other words seem to fit, but boyfriend doesn’t work the best either. He can’t say person because that’s nausea inducing, and he can’t really say roommate anymore because that doesn’t cover the half of it. It’s less of a dilemma than it would be if George were in a more insecure period, but it’s strange.

He also won’t say that he’s his Dream. It’s far more possessive than George will ever allow himself to publicly come across. He usually saves those words to be shared with Dream late at night. Dream doesn’t mind. George is half convinced that Dream likes it when George gets possessive, and knows fully that Dream is just ecstatic to be wanted now. George can tell, because he’s the exact same.

Though George has already lived through this flight last week, it seems so much longer now that he’s returning. It’s definitely excitement, and the fact he misses Dream. The fact that when he arrives he knows Dream’s going to be waiting for him as close to his gate as possible. Dream’s going to be there. He’s missed it so fucking much.

He’s missed having someone to touch, a beating heart underneath him. It’s surreal how George kind of takes these moments for granted, and he probably still will. But it’s fine now. He’s back.

He tries his best to focus on listening to music rather than doing anything else, rather than anticipating the arrival. It’s that point of the flight where they’re up in the clouds, and that’s all that George can see. Clouds everywhere. He wonders if it’s raining where Dream is. He wonders if it’s raining anywhere.

And George feels confined by the seat belt, and the tray, and the cramped seating, and the aisles, all because he knows he’s coming home. It’s a funny thing to know.

Because last time, the apartment felt only something like home. It wasn’t quite there yet. And the apartment itself isn’t really home, it’s just Dream. They could live anywhere as long as they were together, and George knows this, knows it all too well. George is starting to know a lot of things that he’s realising are really gonna help him in the long run.

The plane lands eventually after those tortuous hours spent travelling, sitting in confined seats and just waiting for things to finally happen. The sky isn’t grey. It’s a sunny morning. The air feels hot.

And Dream is waiting for him, like he promised before the flight.

“I’ll be there, don’t worry.” He had told George through his phone, voice muffled and nowhere near as powerful as it is in person, but it’s enough for George in that moment. 

He throws away all inhibitions when he sees him. He does this stupid little speed walk and wraps his arms tightly around Dream’s torso. He’s smiling. He’s home.

“God, I missed you.” He laughs. He feels like shit. He hates travelling. He hates the waiting, and the sitting down, and the way it exhausts him like nothing else. But he’s here now, isn’t he? That’s good enough.

Dream is beaming down at him. He’s in love. 

And seeing Dream smile, to George at least, is enough to keep him going for the rest of his life. He used to believe, fully misguidedly, that perhaps the pain and anguish he felt were the strongest emotions he was capable of feeling. They were so real and overwhelming, consuming his every act.

He knows now that’s not the case.

Now, he’s trapped once more. But it’s nice, it’s pleasant, it feels warm and it feels like it’s where George is supposed to be. Perhaps the strongest feelings George will ever have aren’t so hurtful, aren’t felt at his lowest points where he feels like there’s no way to ever get back up. Maybe they’re somewhere in the gentle haze that clouds his vision in moments like these, where he can feel his heart bleed and his fist clench. 

Somewhere in the moments where Dream kisses his cheek, because kissing properly still feels very real to them when they’re in public.

Moments when George looks at him and kisses him anyway because who the fuck cares if they don’t know where they stand right now. They’re not standing anywhere, not when they’ve fallen for each other like this. 

He half expects the scene to fade to black and the end credits to roll. Half expects there to be an epilogue. 

He hasn’t done what he set out to do in the first place, but he can deal with that. It’ll happen when the moment is right. For now, they need to start heading home.

The right moment, though, it turns out, is later on during the evening.

George is on the verge of falling asleep because he was tired when he arrived and he’s even more tired now after spending the day with Dream making up for lost time. 

His head is on Dream’s chest, maybe where it usually is now and the rhythmic thud of his heart beat is lulling George closer and closer to sleep. Dream is warm, and usually it’s at least slightly uncomfortable to be stuck against him like this when it’s so humid outside, but George can’t really bring himself to care. It’s not as if Dream minds either way.

It’s been a really long day, sure. But he’s home now. Patches is somewhere in the living room minding her own business, because she’s already given George enough attention to last the day. The walls are the same. The floorboards still creak in the same way they did last week. There are still crickets outside at night breaking the silence.

He closes his eyes with a sigh, moves in closer, a leg hooked over Dream’s as he gets himself comfortable for the night. There’s a hand on his back, moving slowly and comfortingly. 

“You asleep?” Dream asks him, voice quiet just in case. 

George responds in something between a hum and actual words. It’s vague, but enough to let Dream know he’s still here and listening. As if to emphasise this, he does his best to move slightly, open his eyes and look at Dream.

Dream just smiles at him.

“Get some sleep.” He tells George, kissing his forehead and George does his best to smile back before he closes his eyes again.

Right before he’s about to drift off, Dream mumbles something quietly.

“You know I love you, right?” 

George isn’t sure how he didn’t see Dream beating him to the punch coming, but he’s not complaining.

“I know,” He murmurs, quietly, and presses a kiss to Dream’s chest, next to wherever his face was laying, “I love you too.”

He doesn’t have to look up to know that Dream’s smiling right now. He can hear the way his heartbeat quickens. George holds him tighter.

And in the quiet evening, where even the crickets have taken it upon themselves to stop chirping, George can hear the two clocks in the house as he always can, far too loud but not loud enough to actually do anything about.

They’re ticking in time now.

**Author's Note:**

> ik this one was less serious than like. actually i don't know the standard of my writing yet. 
> 
> comments are always appreciated! please just be nice to this dumb little thing i wrote very quickly and edited just as quickly (and didn't send to my beta) :)
> 
> also i was supposed to post this hours ago but was busy sending people videos of george crying on cue.


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